


A Happy Betrayal

by theebolaqueen



Category: Blood and Ash Series - Jennifer L. Armentrout
Genre: Angst, Aphrodisiacs, Attempted Murder, Betrayal, Blood Drinking, Blood and Violence, Enemies to Lovers, Eventual Smut, F/M, Heroes to Villains, Murder, Rough Kissing, Sexual Tension, Smut
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-02
Updated: 2021-02-04
Packaged: 2021-03-13 00:26:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,741
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29144418
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theebolaqueen/pseuds/theebolaqueen
Summary: An AU where Casteel's betrayal sets Poppy on a path to becoming the villain of the story
Relationships: Poppy Balfour/Casteel Da'Neer
Comments: 6
Kudos: 28





	1. Thank You

**Author's Note:**

> I personally needed a little more angst and a little more spice

Another arrow zinged through the air and pinned the last solider to the stable wall. The sound reverberated through her chest, in her bones. He exhaled in a liquid gurgle and met her eyes. Run, he silently begged. Run.

She whirled to where the arrow had been fired, and froze.

He stood in the doorway, cold wind sweeping in from behind him, the dark frame of a crossbow in his hands. Her knees went weak with relief.

“You’re safe,” she breathed. “We have to go, now. This town was a trap.” She stepped towards him, arms outstretched, when she saw his eyes. She’d seem that look before, when they were fighting for their lives, when he was staring down an enemy. But never at her. Never with her.

“Hawk…” her voice trembled. A second figure stepped in from the snow and the breath caught in her lungs.

“I made you a promise, girl,” the second man rasped. She knew his voice, recognized the tall man’s slinking movements.

“I remember. Feast on my entrails. Kill me slowly.” She twisted her mouth into a sneer. The man moved towards her, on the verge of shifting into a crouch, a low growl building in his throat.

“Jerome.” Hawk’s voice was a command.

The man, the same man who had murdered Rylan in the garden, paused.

Something in her cracked, the pain hot and spiked in her chest. She took a step back, her hand still reaching.

“Hawk?” She repeated, searching his face for an answer. He didn’t shy away from her gaze, but there was something pained in his expression.

“Come inside, Poppy. It’s cold out there.”

She took another step back and watched his fingers tighten around the crossbow. The same crossbow that had murdered the men who tried to save her. Save her from…

“I’d be happy to bring you back in pieces, if you’d prefer,” Jerome hissed through too long canines. Claws slid from his fingertips and curled towards her.

“Jerome,” Hawk barked. “Go check on Kieran and Danon. Now.” Authority laced the order and seemed to hit Jerome like a physical blow.

Neither she nor Hawk watched as the man slunk away and into the night.

“Poppy,” he said. She moved backwards, painfully aware of the dead men around her. Their bodies, stuck through with arrows, still steamed in the wintery air.

“Don’t—“ her voice caught on a lump growing in her throat. She swallowed. “Don’t call me that.”

His eyebrows pulled together. “Look, this isn’t how I wanted this to go. Just come inside and I can explain everything.”

The dagger felt hot against her thigh but… she couldn’t use it against him. Not Hawk.

“Tell me now.” Her words sounded thin in her ears. She waited for him to put down the crossbow. It wasn’t pointed at her, but he hadn’t relaxed his grip either.

He exhaled in a huff, lifting a black curl from his forehead. “I told you my brother wasn’t dead. He’s been held prisoner by the Queen for the last two hundred years.”

His words clicked into placed one at a time. The crack in her chest widened.

“And I’m the Maiden,” she whispered.

Hawk nodded once, grave.

“And you’re… kidnapping me,” she realized. “You’re going to use me as ransom.”

He took a step forward. Her finger brushed the hilt of her dagger, the movement did not escape him.

“You’ll be perfectly safe. No one will harm you. And when I get my brother back, you’ll be reunited with your Queen,” he crooned. That same croon he’d used last night, whispering filthy things in her ear while his hands—she shook her head, as a blush crept into her cheeks.

He seemed to understand where her thoughts had gone. A real grin, one with two dimples, showed her why he’d never really smiled before. It exposed his two fangs. He was an Atlantian. She’d slept with an Atlantian.

“Don’t worry. You don’t have to be bored while we wait for your Queen. I promise I can keep you entertained.”

She shuddered and injected as much venom as possible into her voice. “You will never touch me again.”

“We’ll see about that.” He smirked.

An outraged cry burst out from between her lips and he had the nerve to laugh. Her fingers curled around the dagger, sliding it out of the sheath.

“I trusted you,” she hissed, and the truth of it bore down on her, felt like a physical weight on her shoulders. “You, we—“ She’d slept with him, choose him. The first true choice she’d ever made for herself. Idiot that she was, she’d even hoped he would chose her too. She’d dreamed of running away together, some place where she wasn’t the Maiden and he wasn’t her royal guard. Somewhere they could just be Poppy and Hawk.

“Poppy—“

“Don’t call me that!” She shrieked and held her dagger in front of her, a buffer between them.

“Should I call you Maiden instead?” He raised an eyebrow.

“How about never speaking to me again?” She said through clenched teeth.

“You don’t really want that,” he purred and moved closer.

“Don’t come near me!” She raised the dagger.

“This doesn’t change how you feel about me.” He grinned, and closed the distance between them.

“I feel nothing for you.” She spat. “I could feel nothing for someone who would take my freedom from me.”

She thought there might have been something in his eyes, some reaction to her words, but it was gone before she could place it. He pressed forward, backing her towards the wall. Her eyes darted around the stables, looking for a way out. She couldn’t let him pin her.

“You’ve lived your whole life in a cage, Poppy. You wouldn’t know what freedom looked like if it stood right in front of you.”

“Casteel,” Kieran stood in the doorway, hair flecked with snow.

Hawk turned and Poppy took advantage of his distraction. She ducked to the side and leapt over one of the fallen soldiers. One of the horses was still in its stall, packed with supplies and ready to take her away from this town. Away from Hawk.

She threw herself up, hauling herself up the stall.

A muscled arm wrapped around her waist and pulled her to the ground. Poppy screamed and threw her head straight back into Hawk’s nose. He grunted in pain and she rolled away, holding her dagger out in defense.

“We don’t have time for this, Cas.” Kieran drawled. Poppy met his eyes and felt another stab of pain. He’d been in on it too. He’d meant to kidnap her from the very beginning. It was good that Tawny had not come with us. She had no doubt that her best friend would have ended up like these soldiers, with an arrow in her heart.

“You always interrupt my fun.” Hawk chuckled as he got to his feet.

“Casteel?” Poppy asked, looking between the two men. “Hawk isn’t even your real name?”

He shrugged and rolled his shoulder back, eyes on her weapon.

She waited for the pain in her chest to bring her down, to disable her completely. But she felt…relief. She’d been a fool, and incredible fool to fall for his tricks. A few caresses and pretty words were all it took to snare her. She’d gone willingly with her captors, and more than that… She forced herself to acknowledge what she’d done. She hadn’t just slept with Hawk. She’d begun to fall for him. And it had all been a lie.

Laughter bubbled from that crack in her chest. She’s been so blind. Weak. Hawk— No, Casteel, exchanged a worried glance with Kieran. She laughed harder, abs burning with each breath. She should have known better. But she’d wanted so badly to be wanted that she’s slept with an Atlanian. The same Atlantian who had killed Rylan and Viktor. They were dead because of her.

She doubled over, tears streaming down her face. Yes, she’d been inexcusably naive. She’d dug their graves with her weak heart. Never again.

“Poppy,” Casteel raised his hands and took a step forward.

She smiled and straightened with a little giggle.

“I thought I told you, don’t call me that.” She said sweetly, and raised the dagger to her own throat.

He paused and she swore Kieran sighed from where he leaned agains the wall.

“Put the dagger down, Poppy.” He said, a warning in his tone. He hadn’t touched the two short swords strapped to his back, but she wouldn’t put it past him if he thought he had no other choice.

“No,” she smiled sweetly. “Here’s what’s going to happen. You’re going to back up while I get on this horse. And you’re not going to move until I’m gone.”

“Or…what?” He barred his teeth in a grin.

She pressed the dagger into the skin above her collarbone. The bright sting of pain was nothing compared to the now cavernous crack in her chest. She was dimly aware of something breaking painfully inside her, but whatever it was deserved to be broken. The pain brought clarity.

She felt the warm blossoming of blood, the single drip that traveled down her neck.

“You will not have me. You will never touch me again. Though I suppose I am grateful. Thank you for reminding me what I am. I won’t forget again.”

“Cas,” Kieran growled. “We need her alive.”

“I’m aware,” he muttered. “Don’t be stupid, Poppy. You’re not going anywhere.”

She edged to the side, towards the open stall, but Casteel maneuvered into place, blocking her from the only horse.

“Get out of my way,” she said, pressing the dagger deeper for emphasis.

“No,” he folded his arms.

He wasn’t going to move, wasn’t going to let her go. She could understand that. She knew, had felt first hand the anguish he carried with him. The pain for the loss of his brother. He would stop at nothing to save him.

But she would not live in another cage. Never again.

She took a deep steadying breath.

“Don’t!” He lunged for her, but she was faster.

With all the strength she had left, she shoved the dagger into her neck and pulled it hard against the skin of her throat.

Her knees buckled and she fell, the ground rising up towards her in slow motion. She had a dim understand of arms around her, catching her before she could hit the dirt floor.

Casteel roared her name, but he sounded far away. There might have been some real pain in that sound too. Good. Let him suffer.

Darkness seeped from the crack in her chest, crowding out the pain, his voice, the look in his eyes. And all she felt as the strength leeched from her body was a deep and vicious satisfaction.


	2. A Dark Kiss

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> To save her, Casteel is forced to make Poppy drink his blood. But the effects aren't quite what he expected.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Look, I like my enemies to lovers just a bit more murderous than most ^_^

She sat up with a gasp, her hand flying to her throat. A jingling of metal caught her attention. Both wrists were shackled to a long chain attached to the stone wall beside her. She was lying on a low cot and, though her clothes were caked with blood, her neck was fine. It was her blood, she knew, but somehow her wound was completely healed.

“I healed you,” said a voice to her left. The muscles in her stomach coiled and she clenched her fists. “I made you drink my blood.”

She felt for the dagger at her thigh, but it was gone. And she was in chains. Caged.

She turned to him, a snarl ripping from her throat. He sat by her side, arms folded against his muscled chest. He looked displeased. Good.

“You should have let me die,” she growled.

He shrugged. “I need you alive.”

She took in his expression, his full lips pressed together in a line, and was pleased discover that she felt only rage.

“It would be smarter to kill me now,” she said offhandedly. “Because if you don’t, I will make you regret it.”

“Scary,” he said with a little smile.

She shrugged. “You can’t keep me locked up forever.”

“Wanna bet?” He asked, his smile growing.

Hatred curled inside her, icy and splintering. The weight of her shackles was intolerable, the stone walls closing in.

Moving as quickly as she could, she wrapped the chain’s slack around her own throat.

He swore and lunged for her, snapping the chain from the wall with an easy flick of the wrist. Before she could blink, he gathered her up against his chest, pinning her arms to her sides.

“Let me go,” she hissed and fought against the warmth of him, the smell of pine and dark spice.

“Calm down, Poppy.” He only held her closer.

“Don’t call me that!” She screamed and threw her head backwards, aiming for his nose. But this time he saw it coming and dodged her attack.

“Such a violent little thing,” he murmured in her ear, his lips caressing her neck.

“Stop squirming. Or, don’t. It’s the perfect kind of torture.” The rough stubble of his chin dragged across her cheek.

“You’re sick,” she spat. “Let me go!”

“So you can hurt yourself again? Or me?” She heard amusement in his tone which further enraged her.

“You can’t stop me!” She cried. “If I can’t kill you, I’ll kill myself. I won’t be a part of your plans and I won’t be a captive.”

“You _are_ a captive,” he reminded her gently.

“You’re going to have to let go eventually,” she seethed. “And what then, _Casteel?_ ” There was poison in her voice. “You can take away my weapons, but can you make me eat? Prevent me from killing your sycophantic followers? I will be much more trouble than I’m worth, I promise you that.” She gave him her most saccharine smile.

“What makes you think I can’t make you compliant?”

The threat made her pause.

“In all the bedtime stories your Queen told you about Atlantians, I’m sure you heard what some of us can do,” he spoke against the skin of her shoulder.

She did remember. The Queen had told her that the strongest Atlantians, the ones with the oldest bloodlines, sometimes had additional powers. It was all too fantastical for her to believe: elemental control, flaming swords, shape shifting, and compulsion.

“You wouldn’t,” she breathed. The room was too small. The ceiling too low, and closing in with each beat of her heart.

“I would,” he purred. “To keep you safe. I need you alive and healthy to save my brother, Princess. If you keep threatening to hurt yourself, I’ll have to stop you.”

“It’s not a threat,” she said through lips that felt numb.

He waited, sensing there was more, as if he could hear the frantic whirling of her thoughts.

“How could you?” She asked, her chest rising and falling with increasing rapidity. “How could you see what my life was in that cage, offer me a taste of freedom, and take me to a cage of your own? How could you?”

A strange heat swept through her body as the walls pressed in on them. Her mouth was dry and she couldn’t seem to catch her breath.

Casteel only watched her closely. Her skin felt too tight, her insides too loose. Warmth pooled in her core and her skin seemed to hum. She was on fire, every part of her singing with need, the same way her body felt when he touched her, kissed her. She arched her back, pressing into his chest.

He inhaled and froze when he caught her scent.

“Poppy,” he growled in warning.

“What?” She asked, unable to recognize the honey in her voice.

“Stop thinking what you’re thinking.”

“You don’t know what I’m thinking,” she bit her lip. She hated him, hated him more than she could stand. But maybe before she killed him, she could kiss him one more time. It would be a shame to miss out on those full lips—

“I know.”

 _You hate him. You hate him. You hate him_. She tried to remind herself. But she couldn’t think past the way her body throbbed and burned. She squirmed against him, trying to free her arms from his grasp, and bit her lips at the small amount of friction between their bodies.

“Poppy,” he bit out. “What are you doing?”

“I don’t know,” she admitted in a whisper and clenched her thighs together to try and stop the warmth the was pooling in between her legs.

“It’s my blood,” his voice was thick. “It will pass but… you need to stop doing that.”

His breath caressed her skin and she shivered, her breath coming in small pants.

The hands pinning her were strong, so much stronger than her. She wants those hands on her. She thought of when his mouth had sucked hot and wet on her breast at the Red Pearl. She wanted him to do that again.

“Poppy, for the love of gods.” It was clear he didn’t know whether to hold her closer or push her away. She didn’t know either.

“You did this on purpose,” she gasped, trying to fight through the warm haze. Her head lolled back, exposing the long line of her neck.

“It’s a side effect of my blood. It was the only way to heal you.”

“I hate you,” she bit out again, but her words sounded flat even to her. “Kiss me.”

He exhaled in a rush. “You don’t want that.”

“I want to kill you.” She exhaled. “And I want you to touch me. Please?”

He groaned. “You’re not thinking straight. You don’t want this.”

She turned her head and touched the tip of her tongue to his ear. He went still as death.

“You don’t get to tell me what I want,” she said with a breathless moan. “Hawke—“

“Don’t call me that,” he snapped.

Of course. Kieran had called him something else when they’d betrayed her. Even his name had been a carefully crafted piece of his snare. A name to fall in love with.

“Casteel,” she whispered against his jawline. He shuddered, at the touch or his name, she didn’t know. _Casteel._ His name, his striking beauty, his sinful mouth, they were pretty petals on a poisonous flower. His own words came back to her, the ones he’d spoken at the Red Pearl. _They have led quite a few people to make questionable life choices._ And the pieces fell into place. The way everyone obeyed him. How he’d told told her she belonged to the Dark One.

“You’re him,” she gasped, too shocked to move away. “The Dark One. That’s what happened to your brother, why you hurt when you think about him. You need me to get your brother back.”

“That is _not_ my name,” he growled, and she felt it rumble through her bones. “My name is Casteel Da’Neer, the second son of King Valyn Da’Neer, brother of Prince Malik Da’Neer. The Dark One is not my name.”

That was who she’d slept with. Who she’d fallen for. She waited for the horror, the shame, the revulsion, but it didn’t come. That yawning darkness in her chest swallowed it all.

“Have you not earned it?” She asked, nipping gently at his earlobe. “Have you not murdered those I loved? Lied to me with every breath? Stolen whatever virtue I had left? And would you not, at this very moment, send me into the arms of those you claim to be evil and cruel in order to save your brother? Would you not trade my life for his?”

His breathing was as erratic as hers, she felt his pounding pulse, and for the first time since she’d learned the truth, she felt powerful.

“The Queen won’t hurt you, Poppy,” he groaned. The sound made her stomach flutter. “You’re her favorite Maiden.”

“I don’t want to hear the Dark One's lies,” she trailed her tongue in a featherlight line up his throat. “I want the Dark One to kiss me. Are you him, or not?”

“Fuck, Poppy,” he breathed and spun her to face him.

Their mouths collided and the feel of him took her breath away. His perfect lips were warm and soft, and when he dragged his tongue across her bottom lip she thought she might fall apart.

With one arm wrapped around her waist, he crushed her body to his. Her now free hands traveled across the hard expanse of his chest, across his broad shoulders, and into the black curls of his hair. The dangling chains from her shackles dragged across their skin, the metal biting cold against their fire.

Casteel’s lips claimed her, the feel of him invaded her with the same strange magic as his blood. His free hand skimmed down the outside of her ribs, over the curve of her hip, and caressed the back of her thigh. There, his fingers dug into her skin and hitcher her leg up around his waist. Her answering gasp was swallowed up by his mouth on hers.

"Gods, you're perfect," he murmured against her skin.

Her body didn’t know the difference between Hawke and Casteel, between lover and enemy, between right and wrong. She still craved this man, ached for the lust he’d awoken her to with his wicked hands and stupid dimples.

Her body didn’t know the difference, but her heart did.

Poppy plucked one of the short swords from the sheath at his back and plunged it into his heart. Warm blood splashed across her face, but she felt cold.

Slowly, she lifted her gaze to his.

His amber eyes were wide in surprise as he held her gaze for a moment and then looked down to the sword in his chest.

She stepped out of his arms, though his fingers trailed after her.

“I’m not sorry,” she bowed her head.

He lifted his gaze to hers, the glaze of shock settling over his features. “You’re crying.” A thin trickle of blood seeped from the corner of his mouth.

She _was_ crying. For the first time since Viktor died. She shook her head, infuriated by the tears the streamed down her face.

“I’m not sorry,” she said again and moved to the door on shaking legs.

A choked wet laugh rattled from him as he bent forward, bracing himself on the floor with both hands.

“No,” he gasped. “You’re not.”

She turned and ran.


End file.
